


my cold hands needed a warm, warm touch

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Blow Jobs, Detroit Red Wings, Fingerfucking, Implied Relationships, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Past Break-Up(s), San Jose Sharks, mention of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The arena is dark, all the lights snuffed out like candles, as Nik waits there against the door a moment to let his eyes adjust.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	my cold hands needed a warm, warm touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/gifts).



> I put out a request for Christmas drabbles/fics a long time ago and [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/profile)[**annabeth**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/) asked for: _Kronner/Stuie! It doesn't have to be porn, but can I get some slashiness and/or kissing at least? LIKE ZOMG MISTLETOE. Um. I mean. Whatever you like. LOL._ Months later, it’s finally done and I'm tired of looking at it, so...
> 
> I feel like there should probably be more angst over infidelity but that didn’t happen. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ There's drinking and then sex, but no drunk sex.
> 
> The Wings and Sharks did not play a game in San José around Christmastime. So, you can consider this a slight AU. I mean, if you aren’t already due to the slash.
> 
> Literally took me six months to finish the goddamn porn.
> 
> Title from "Thinkin' About You," by Norah Jones.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

The arena is dark, all the lights snuffed out like candles, as Nik waits there against the door a moment to let his eyes adjust. It’s quiet, but he can hear faint noises, like the building is settling into its foundation.

Stuie had sent him a text after their game, a hard-fought and somewhat miraculous Red Wings overtime victory. _lets meet up n grab some drinks. players exit, 11pm._

Nik is standing by the players’ exit, has been since a quarter to 11 and—according to both his watch and his iPhone—it’s almost 11:30, but there’s been no sign of Stuie. 

Nik wonders if he’s been stood up. Surely if Stuie is going to skip out on drinks with his old best friend, something important must have come up back home. Nik just hopes it has nothing to do with Melissa or the kids. Maybe he got held up after the game; he did let Datsyuk walk right around him for the OT winner. 

McLellan couldn’t have been happy about that, probably gave him an earful. Maybe he had wanted Stuie to stay and watch film or something.

Any way you slice it, it’s not like Stuie to bail _and_ to not even bother shooting off a text.

Nik tries not to let the thought bother him, but it does, nipping at his heels like an annoying, yappy little dog. 

_Stuie stood me up._

Nik sighs heavily, resigned to the truth of it, and turns to leave when he hears footsteps clipping on the cement. A very familiar voice rings out, echoing off the concrete surrounding them. 

“What do you think you’re doing back here?”

Nik looks up; Stuie smiles easily at him as he approaches, a sports coat slung over one arm, like their teams hadn’t just gone toe-to-toe on the ice a few hours before. His bright blue eyes are soft and warm, and all Nik’s annoyance melts away at the welcome sight. 

He figures he should be embarrassed that seeing his old defensive partner does this to him, mostly because that’s all Stuie ever was to him and nothing more, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Coach lectured us a little after the game,” Stuie explains, apologetically.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up,” Nik says, wincing slightly as soon as the words leave his mouth. He feels so _pathetic_ , like he’s back in secondary school or something. 

Nik is torn between feeling ashamed for caring so much about whether Stuie would show up and feeling so relieved that he’s actually here.

Stuie snorts softly, shrugging the sports coat off his shoulder and slipping it on. “You honestly thought I’d stand you up? What kind of man do you think I am, Kronwall?” Stuie eases his smile into a full-on grin and Nik has to avert his gaze.

“Nah,” Nik lies, kicking the toe of his shiny black dress shoe at a fossilized wad of chewing gum stuck to the concrete. “I figured something important had to have come up for you to be late.”

“We made plans, Nik.” Stuie reaches out and touches Nik on the shoulder, briefly, before letting his hand fall away. “What’d you have in mind? Drinks? Late dinner?”

Nik looks up, not quite letting himself meet Stuie’s gaze. “Drinks sound pretty good to me right now.”

“Me too,” Stuie agrees.

They step out into cool, damp San José night air. Colorful Christmas lights are strung around tall palm trees that overlook the players’ lot. Nik finds it a little strange without the snow, but it’s still beautiful.

Seeing the lights draped from tree to tree has a calming effect on him and the tightness that’s been wrapped around his chest since he thought Stuie wasn’t going to show up slowly ebbs away.

They get to Stuie’s car and he pauses, digging in his pants pockets for his car keys. 

“You okay?” Stuie tosses casually over his shoulder, but Nik can tell from the hard line of his jaw that he’s playing at it. 

“I’m fine,” Nik says. He immediately feels guilty, face flushing with shame. This was supposed to be a fun reunion between former teammates and best friends and here he is, ruining it with his poor attitude. “Why would you think I’m not?”

“You’ve just been kind of quiet, that’s all,” Stuie says, finally fishing out his keys and glancing up at Nik. “I wasn’t gonna stand you up. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Nik says, forcing a laugh. Inwardly, he kicks himself, hating that Stuie can still read him so well even after all these months and miles apart. Stuie’s practically on the other side of the country now and it’s almost like he never left. 

He certainly never left Nik’s head, at least.

Stuie looks skeptical but he doesn’t call Nik out. He unlocks the car and they both get in, and Stuie turns the radio on to a Christmas music station. A sprig of mistletoe dangles from the rearview mirror, tied with a green velvet ribbon.

“Now that’s just taking the Christmas spirit a bit too far,” Nik says, making a face and flicking at the mistletoe with his fingernail.

“What can I say? I really get into the holiday season.” Stuie flashes Nik a grin before putting the car in _drive_ and easing out of his parking spot. “The boys love it. They think it’s funny. Cierra just thinks it’s dorky.”

Nik can’t help but laugh, even as his stomach does nervous little flips at the mention of Stuie’s family, his other life. “You’re like the quintessential dorky dad.”

“I am,” Stuie agrees.

They drive on a little while longer in companionable silence. Nik lets himself appreciate the lack of sound, noise, clutter. It’s worse to talk over someone—to talk past them—than to just not talk at all. 

Nik feels like he and Stuie are having a more meaningful conversation through just the occasional meeting of their eyes than they ever could filling up the space around them with trivial chatter. 

“You’ll understand once you have kids of your own, Kronner,” Stuie says.

For some reason, the comment strikes Nik oddly, like a puck glancing off his body and past his goalie, into his own net. He’s not sure why, but it leaves him feeling unsettled.

“Oh, that’s not happening anytime soon,” Nik grumbles, mostly to himself, as he hunkers down in the passenger seat.

Stuie casts him a side-glance as they cruise out of the lot and zip down the highway. “No? You and Katinka ever gonna settle down and start a family?”

Nik frowns at the dashboard. “We, uh...we aren’t together anymore.”

“What? What happened?” Stuie asks.

“We wanted different things,” Nik recites. He’s said the words to himself enough times that they surely must be true now.

“You guys were together forever,” Stuie says, sounding as if the shock of Nik’s revelation has punched all the starch out of him. “I always thought you and Katinka would get married and have a million perfect blond robot children.”

Nik laughs, despite himself. “So did I.”

Stuie pulls to a stop at a red light and glances over at him. “I’m sorry, Nik.”

“It’s fine,” Nik says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “It’s really not a big deal.”

The light changes color—from red to green, appropriate for Christmas, Nik thinks—and Stuie eases onto the gas. “It _is_ a big deal.”

“Really, it’s not. We’ve both moved on,” Nik says, turning and gazing out the window at the cars that whiz by. “She already changed her Facebook status from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship.’ ” Nik pauses, before quickly adding, “Not that I regularly check out her Facebook.”

Stuie reaches out and pats Nik on the knee before wrapping his hands back around the steering wheel. “I’m gonna get you drunk,” Stuie announces, firmly. “ _And_ I’m gonna be your wingman.”

“Oh, no. No,” Nik says, shrinking against the door. “You are _not_ going to get me laid tonight.”

Stuie grins at the windshield. “Sounds like that’s exactly what you need. Consider it my Christmas gift to you.”

“Fuck you,” Nik says mildly.

Stuie laughs. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Nik groans and slouches down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do I even like you?”

“Because, deep down inside, you need me. And you know it.”

“I could find a girl on my own if I wanted to,” Nik grumbles petulantly. He scuffs his feet on the floor mat like a child.

“You don’t want to?” Stuie asks, sounding curious, despite himself.

Nik shrugs. “I haven’t really felt like it since Kat and I split,” he says. “Plus, I’ve got hockey. I don’t have time to date.”

“No one said anything about dating,” Stuie points out.

“Just leave it,” Nik says, injecting a little steel into his tone, in the hopes Stuie will let it go. Talking about his sex life—or lack thereof—and his failed relationship make Nik feel itchy and uncomfortable in his own skin.

Stuie doesn’t let it go, though; Nik telling him to drop it just spurs him on. He should have figured. “Is someone a little shy?”

“Shut up.” Nik shoots eye-lasers at the windshield. 

Stuie pulls into a parking space outside a divey looking bar, killing the engine and pocketing his keys. “You’ll thank me later, Kronner,” he promises.

“I don’t think I will,” Nik says, sighing.

They go inside and get a booth in the back. Nik doesn’t think anyone will recognize them, but the seclusion is a bonus. Nik doesn’t mind when fans come up for autographs and photos, but the thought of being seen with Stuie in some dive bar in San José makes Nik’s stomach do nervous little flips. People would have no reason to be suspicious of them—at least, suspicious of Stuie—but Nik is a whole other story.

Stuie slides into the booth across from Nik and sprawls out easily, slinging an arm over the back. The top buttons of his shirt are undone, and the movement exposes a v of skin at the base of his throat.

Nik carefully averts his gaze, lest he be caught staring. That would be the icing on the cake. 

“That girl,” Stuie says, apropos of nothing, and Nik just stares at him. “The one at the end of the bar.”

Nik glances toward the end of the bar, where a curvy blonde in a tight, glittery top and formfitting jeans is stirring a straw in her drink. Her legs are crossed, and a shiny gold sandal dangles from her bobbing foot. 

“What about her?” Nik asks.

“She your type? You always had a fondness for blondes,” Stuie says.

Nik turns and frowns at him. “I thought we weren’t doing this.”

“I never agreed to that,” Stuie says, smirking.

Nik forces down the uneasy feeling that flutters in his gut and threatens to rise in his gorge. “Well, I don’t want you to be my wingman. Drop it,” Nik snaps tersely.

Stuie’s expression shifts from openness and ease to one of concern. “Hey, buddy. I’m sorry. I was just trying to help. Didn’t mean to get so pushy,” he says, his tone soft, almost solicitous.

Nik looks past Stuie’s shoulder; the blonde is still sitting there, stirring her drink when she notices Nik and smiles at him. He quickly looks away. “It’s fine. I’m just not ready,” he says. White lies never hurt, right? At least, that’s what Nik likes to believe.

Thankfully, a server comes to by to take their drink orders. She has on a red Santa hat and green rubber elf ears.

“Hey, guys. What would you like to drink?” She sets felt-covered coasters down in front of them, and pulls laminated menus out from under her arm. She plucks a pen from behind her ear and produces a water-stained notepad from the pouch at her waist.

“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks,” Stuie says. He points at Nik. “As for my friend here... Do you have Absolut?”

Nik rolls his eyes. “Just because I’m Swedish doesn’t mean I drink Absolut,” he scoffs.

“What do you guys drink then?” Stuie asks.

Nik looks up at the server and offers her an apologetic smile. “I’ll have a Bud Light,” he says.

Stuie makes a gagging noise and slaps a hand against his face dramatically. “Jesus, what have they done to you since I left? Have you been hanging out with Bert or something?”

Nik can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess I have a fondness for blondes _and_ shitty American light beer.”

“Bud Light, though? That’s one step above Natty Ice,” Stuie scolds.

Nik snatches up his cocktail napkin and starts shredding the rippled edges. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t know me, man.”

Stuie snorts. “I think I know you better than a lot of people.”

“That’s probably true,” Nik says, thinking of Katinka. His heart throbs in his chest. He starts shredding the napkin savagely. “Sometimes I thought you were psychic.”

“What?” Stuie asks.

Nik lifts his eyes, forces himself to meet Stuie’s. “When we played together. Sometimes it seemed like you knew what I was thinking before I even thought it. We were always in sync,” he elaborates. 

Stuie glances down at his own napkin. He twirls it on the varnished tabletop. “Yeah, we were,” he says. He looks up again and pins Nik with his eyes. Nik can’t look away, though he wishes he could. “Do you have that with E? How’s that working out?”

“It—it’s been good,” Nik says, clutching his wrecked napkin in his fingers. “He’s been fine.”

“You guys don’t have a psychic link, I take it,” Stuie teases gently.

Nik shrugs. “No, but it hasn’t been bad. E’s taken great strides,” he says, pausing briefly before gathering his courage and forging on. “Babs was right, though.”

“Right? About what?” Stuie asks.

“Right about missing you,” Nik says. “We do miss you on the blueline.”

“I’m happy where I’m at now.” Stuie pushes his napkin around on the slick tabletop. “But I miss it too, sometimes. Being out there with you.”

“You could always change your mind,” Nik blurts, flushing with embarrassment the second the words leave his mouth.

Stuie smiles, though there’s a tinge of sadness to it. “I wouldn’t have left if I had a choice,” he says. “You know that. I loved it there.”

“I know. It was a stupid thing to say,” Nik says. He knows it’s not much of an apology. Stuie deserves better from him. “I just. We miss you as much as we miss Nick, I think.”

Stuie laughs and shakes his head, dismissively, as if that couldn’t possibly be true. “C’mon, Kronner. Nick is Nick. Guys like me are a dime a dozen.”

“We lost our two best defensemen in one offseason,” Nik says. “I’d say we miss you both pretty badly.”

“I wasn’t—” Stuie starts, but the server comes by with their drinks, and he cuts himself off.

After they order some appetizers and start in on their drinks, Nik finds himself wondering what Stuie was about to say. He wasn’t—what? One of their top two defensemen? Clearly he was, or they wouldn’t be struggling so much on the backend this year. 

The struggles they’ve been having on the blueline just hammer home—to Nik, to everyone—that Nik isn’t half the player he once appeared to be. Not without Nick or Stuie to play alongside him. It’s a disappointing reality Nik tries to push back against, but he can only hold it off for so long. Sooner or later, the fans will turn on him. Then it’ll only be a matter of time before the front office—

“Kronner. Hey, Kronner.” Stuie snaps his fingers in front of Nik’s face and he looks up.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?” Stuie asks, dropping his hand beside his glass.

“I—I’m sorry, I zoned out,” Nik says, flushing in shame. Again. “What were you saying?”

“I asked you what you were gonna order,” Stuie says, picking up one of the menus and thrusting it into Nik’s chest. “Are you okay?”

Nik takes the menu, cheeks still flaming. “I’m fine.”

Stuie rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m your best friend.”

Nik stares down at the shiny menu cover. “I just have a lot on my mind,” he grumbles.

“That wasn’t vague or unhelpful at all,” Stuie says dryly.

“It’s not a big deal, Stu. I can handle it. I’m a big boy. You don’t have to fight my battles for me anymore,” Nik says.

Stuie runs a finger along the rim of his glass and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. It’s a funny look for him, Nik thinks, before directing his idle, wandering thoughts away from what Stuie’s doing with his mouth. 

“I know you can stand up for yourself,” Stuie says. “I always did. But friendship isn’t just... Nik, I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. And if I can help in any way, I want to at least be allowed to try.”

Nik sighs and drops his head in his hands. He rakes his fingers through his still slightly damp hair. “It’s been a rough year,” he says. “We keep making these stupid mistakes. Rookie mistakes, really. There’s always a defensive breakdown that happens to unravel everything. And I’m the leader, now. I have to set a good example, and I’m _not_.”

“You’ve been fine,” Stuie says.

“You’re not here. How would you know?” It comes out meaner, more accusatory than Nik had intended, and when he finally drops his hands and lifts his head, Stuie won’t quite meet his eyes.

“I catch bits and pieces of your games when I can,” Stuie says, mostly to his empty glass. “It’s not all on you, you know.”

“I’m the leader on the blueline, I have to be better.”

“We can always be better. But there are gonna be a lot of growing pains without Nick.” Stuie’s tone is soft and firm, steel wrapped in velvet. Nik had always joked that it was his ‘disappointed dad voice.’ He thinks he should be embarrassed that Stuie’s using it on him now, like he’s some unruly kid that got out of line.

Nik drains the last of his beer—too weak and watery, and not nearly strong enough—and waves the server over. When she approaches their table, he says, “Vodka and Sprite, please. Heavy on the vodka.”

After she leaves with his order, Stuie leans over and musses up his hair. “Attaboy,” he says, smiling at him. “That’s more like it.”

Nik jerks his head out from under Stuie’s hand and runs his fingers through his hair, settling it back into place. “Can’t get drunk off Bud Light,” he says, by way of an explanation.

“Sure you can. You’d need a shit-ton of it, though,” Stuie says, smiling.

Nik allows himself to smile back.

They slip into the easy, bantery sort of conversation they used to have often as teammates, but it feels just a little _off_. It feels superficial, as if they’re only scratching the surface, unwilling to go any deeper. Nik isn’t sure why, because they never had this problem when they were teammates, and he can’t shake the odd feeling.

After they leave the bar, they drive around in Stuie’s car for a little bit, the windows down, the wind in their hair. Nik’s face numbs into a cold mask after a while, but he doesn’t mind at all.

The sprig of mistletoe thumps against the windshield, ribbons fluttering, taunting him. Nik reaches out and tries to untwist the knots, but his fingers are cold and clumsy.

“What are you doing?” Stuie asks him.

“It’s mocking me,” Nik says, digging at the knots with his fingernails, trying to loosen them.

“It’s a plant,” Stuie says.

“It’s a poisonous parasite,” Nik says, loosening the ribbon enough to free the mistletoe.

“Feeling a little Grinchy?” Stuie teases, flicking a hand out and knocking Nik’s away.

“No! I just think it’s stupid,” Nik says, glaring hatefully at the mistletoe.

“Just give it here.” Stuie holds out his hand for it.

“You should be paying attention to the road,” Nik scolds.

“We’re not moving.” Stuie points to the traffic light, which is still showing red.

Nik plucks at the leaves. “Well, the point still stands.”

Stuie snatches the mistletoe away and tosses it on the dashboard. “Just because you’re bitter doesn’t mean you get to vandalize my Christmas decorations.”

Nik crosses his arms over his chest and slouches in his seat. “Whatever, Stuie.”

It takes Nik a few minutes before he realizes they’ve passed the exit to the hotel the Wings are staying at. Nik sits up and tugs on Stuie’s sleeve. He glances sidewards at Nik, but says nothing.

“You missed the exit, Stu. The hotel is back that way,” Nik says, turning in his seat and pointing.

“I know. We’re going back to my place,” he says.

“What? Why? I’m going to miss the curfew check,” Nik says.

“Come on, how many times did we miss curfew? Babs never did anything about it then.” Stuie laughs and turns on the radio, flipping through stations before settling on one that’s playing an AC/DC song. Nik’s not sure which one. They all kind of sound the same to him.

“It wouldn’t look good if I’m not there,” Nik says.

“You’ll be fine. If you catch hell from Babs, just tell him I’ll pay your fine,” Stuie says.

Nik gives up trying to argue, though he does wonder what the hell they’re going to do at Stuie’s place. It’s late enough that Stuie’s boys will probably be tucked into their beds. They probably won’t be able to do much. Maybe Melissa will be awake.

Stuie’s house is beautiful, located in a ritzy gated community, and looks like a perfect place to raise a family. When they pull into the driveway, Nik can see a child’s bicycle lying on its side in the grass.

The porch lights blink on with a hiss, and Nik holds his breath, half expecting Melissa to greet them when they get out of Stuie’s car.

“They’ve got motion sensors,” Stuie explains, seemingly able to detect Nik’s discomfort. “Melissa took the kids to visit her mom. They’re gone for the weekend.”

“Oh.” Nik isn’t sure how to feel about this new bit of information. Excited that he gets Stuie to himself, for a little while, or nervous that Melissa won’t be around to act as a buffer between them?

Stuie kills the engine and gets out, letting the door slam shut. Nik follows him, attempting to will his nerves to settle. He’s been out with Stuie before, numerous times. He shouldn’t feel so anxious or jittery now that they’re no longer teammates.

Nik follows Stuie into his home and Stuie shuts the door behind them, leaning against Nik for a moment. His weight is solid and warm against Nik’s shoulder, and the spicy scent of his aftershave invades Nik’s senses.

“You all right?” 

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Nik says, sighing. Stuie moves away from him and he immediately misses the weight of Stuie’s shoulder against his own.

“You want something to drink?” Stuie asks, motioning for Nik to come along with him to the kitchen.

“Um, sure. A soda would be fine,” Nik says, as he follows after him.

“Sure you don’t want anything stronger?” Stuie heads to the refrigerator and throws it open, pulling out a 2-liter bottle of Coke. “I’ve got wine, in case you’re interested.”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Nik says. “I had a fair amount to drink earlier.” He leans back against the kitchen island. Pots and pans hang overhead, and Nik wonders what purpose that serves, whether or not it’s completely ornamental.

Stuie puts the Coke on the island, along with a couple chilled shot glasses, a plastic jug of tequila, and a bottle of rum.

“It would go against everything in me not to get you shitfaced,” Stuie says.

“I expect nothing less,” Nik says.

Stuie uncaps the bottles and jugs and begins mixing drinks, while Nik sits back and watches his hands fly. Nik doesn’t miss the thin band of white skin where his wedding ring should be. He wonders if Stuie just takes it off in public, like a lot of Nik’s married teammates do, or if he and Melissa are having problems.

Maybe that’s why Melissa and the boys aren’t here, Nik thinks, letting his mind amble down paths better left alone. Or maybe Stuie is just lonely without his wife and kids, and wants some companionship.

Stuie pushes a glass across the countertop to Nik. “There ya go.”

Nik wraps his hands around the glass. “Thanks.” Nik takes a sip and tries not to gag as the rum burns down his throat. “So... How _is_ your family?”

Stuie blinks, seemingly taken aback by the abrupt change in subject. He avoids meeting Nik’s eyes as he makes himself a drink. “They’re doing good. Cierra’s in college now, trying to find herself. And the boys are doing their thing. School, soccer, karate, hockey.”

“And Melissa?” Nik prompts.

Stuie glances at him. “She’s fine. Why are you asking about them? You never really wanted to hear about them much when I was in Detroit.”

Nik flinches, feeling stung. “I guess it was different then. Back then, I think we were all just waiting for the day you’d show up and say you weren’t coming back.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Stuie says, nursing his drink.

“We all knew you’d leave if Melissa asked you to,” Nik says. He’s actually proud of himself for not sounding as accusatory as he did earlier in the night, in the bar. “Then you did, and it was kind of like a weight off everyone, I guess.”

“I—I guess that makes sense,” Stuie allows, though he looks skeptical, a line forming between his brows. “Melissa didn’t ask, by the way. I made the decision on my own to come back. She was happy, but it wasn’t her idea.”

“I know that. I don’t blame her or anything,” Nik says, frowning a little. “Did you think I hated your wife?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought you never really liked her,” Stuie says.

“Stuie, I barely know her. I’ve spoken to her maybe three times total in all the years I’ve known you,” Nik points out, tipping his head back and draining the rest of his rum and Coke. He sets the glass down with a wet thump. His temples throb faintly.

“You can hate people you’ve never met,” Stuie says almost defensively.

“Why do you want me to hate your wife?” Nik asks, frowning some more.

“I don’t want you to hate her,” Stuie mutters, finishing off his drink too. “I just assumed—”

“You know what they say when you assume,” Nik cuts him off.

“What’s that?” Stuie makes it sound like a challenge.

“I don’t remember. And I’m drunk.” Nik picks up his empty glass and rolls it around in his hand. 

“Good, that’s the plan.” Stuie mixes him another rum and Coke and wraps Nik’s hands around the glass. Stuie’s fingers are warm and wet over Nik’s.

Nik lifts the glass to his lips and gulps down the rum and Coke. This one is even stronger than the first one Stuie mixed up, and he winces. He pushes the glass aside and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “So, now what?”

Stuie moves Nik’s half-empty glass aside. “I guess I could take you on a tour of the place, if you want. I didn’t really think this all the way through when I invited you to come over,” he says.

Nik laughs and leans across the kitchen island to whack Stuie on the shoulder. Stuie looks down at Nik’s hand as it comes to rest on his arm. “You kind of suck at the whole planning thing, don’t you?”

Stuie’s voice sounds different in Nik’s ears, soft and echo-y, like it’s wrapped in cotton. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Stuie circles the island in a couple broad steps, coming around to Nik’s side. Stuie drops a hand to the sleek marble countertop and Nik is grateful for the distraction. He focuses on the back of Stuie’s hand, allows himself to wonder about the strength in those hands, those fingers. 

Is he gentle with Melissa? Does he caress her with soft touches, does he run his hands gently over her skin? Or is he rough with her? Does he fuck his wife the way he plays hockey—hard, purposeful, unrelenting?

Stuie flexes his fingers before reaching out and laying his hand over Nik’s arm.

Nik feels like he should move away, or push Stuie away, but he doesn’t do either. He doesn’t do anything, just lets Stuie touch him like that, hand resting gently on his arm, fingers curling lightly in the material of Nik’s sleeve. Nik glances down again, at Stuie’s hand, his hair falling in his eyes.

He wants to ask Stuie, _What? Why?_ but the words don’t quite make it from his brain to his lips.

Stuie pushes Nik’s hair out of his eyes and Nik jerks his head up at that. Stuie’s fingertips brush against his cheek, an accidental touch, and he pulls his hand back sharply at the unexpected contact.

Nik isn’t sure what’s going on here, now, but he’s also fairly certain neither of them are drunk enough that they could pass it off as a harmless bit of nothing.

When Nik forces himself to meet Stuie’s eyes, he grows even more confused and unnerved. Stuie is staring intently at him, his normally bright blue eyes dark and hooded. His full lips are wet, parted, and Nik has to beat down the urge to press his own lips against Stuie’s.

Nik has known for a while—hell, always known—that he’s not one-hundred per cent straight. That’s a huge reason why Kat left. She was always worried that she wouldn’t be enough for him, that he’d tire of her, or miss being with a man enough to leave her or something. Nik had tried his best to reassure her that she was the only woman he wanted to be with, that he could see them settling down and starting a family together, but it hadn’t been enough.

And it had been true. He could have married her. They could have been very happy. He never would have strayed from her.

Nik had never taken the thing with Stuie—well, there had never been a _thing_ , to be honest—very seriously, mostly because Stuie was happily married and devoted to his wife and kids. It was just a stupid, one-sided crush, one that Nik went to great lengths not to entertain.

So, all of that makes _this_ —Stuie looking at Nik like he wants him, like he’s _thought_ about wanting Nik, thought about _having_ Nik before—feel like a bucket of ice cold water’s been dumped over his head.

Nik read somewhere once that if someone holds eye contact with you for longer than six seconds, they either want to kill you or fuck you. He’s pretty sure they’ve been staring at each other for longer than six seconds. He just hopes Stuie doesn’t want to kill him.

“Nik. Kronner.” There’s a fine tremor to Stuie’s voice, which sets Nik immediately on edge. He’s not sure what to make of it.

“Yeah?” Nik’s stomach swoops and he wipes his clammy palms on his slacks. “What—what’s up?”

“We never took that tour of the house,” Stuie says, abruptly.

Nik blinks rapidly at the non sequitur, the spell broken. “What?”

“I was gonna give you a tour of the house. Remember?” Stuie coughs lightly and works out the thickness in his throat. “I mean, unless you decide you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Nik says, smiling a little. “Lead the way.”

Stuie gestures for Nik to follow and they meander from the kitchen to a massive living room with high, vaulted ceilings. The walls are covered in family photographs—candid shots of Stuie and Melissa in romantic, backlit poses, shots of Stuie with the kids, Melissa with her teenage daughter—that make Nik feel vaguely like an intruder. 

His eyes come to rest on a prominently placed photograph of Stuie and Melissa, their arms wrapped around one another. Melissa has delicate pink flowers twined in her white-blond hair, and Stuie has on a ruffly dress shirt, open at the collar, and black slacks. They both look so young and joyous, their faces unlined; Nik realizes it must be their wedding photo.

“Nice family,” he offers, for lack of anything else to say.

“Yeah,“ Stuie agrees, eyes lingering on the wedding photo.

Nik wonders if Stuie brought him to look at the photographs on purpose, but he figures he’s just being paranoid. Stuie probably has no idea how Nik even feels—felt about him.

“I wanna show you the boys’ playroom,” Stuie says, grabbing onto Nik’s wrist and tugging gently.

Nik lets himself be dragged along by Stuie, up the winding, carpeted stairs to a big playroom covered in Sharks decals and memorabilia. A large, panoramic window overlooks a covered swimming pool and a wooden jungle gym set in the backyard. Nik finds himself scanning the room for Red Wings gear, but sees none.

Stuie must be able to read his mind, because he says, “I put all their Red Wings stuff in my game room, in the basement.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nik is very aware of the fact Stuie is still holding onto him and trying to pretend that he isn’t. Only he’s not sure who he’s attempting to fool. He thinks it’s probably himself.

“This room,” Stuie says, pulling Nik along to the next attraction, “is Cierra’s room. She hasn’t stayed here much since she went off to school.”

Nik gets a glance at Stuie’s stepdaughter’s room; it looks like a typical teenage girl’s room, done up mostly in pink and purple hues, with a canopied bed and a smattering of Stuie’s hockey memorabilia gracing the walls. A framed photo of Stuie, holding the Stanley Cup overhead, hangs over her headboard, sandwiched between smaller, framed photos of Cierra with Stuie and Melissa and her brothers, presumably on her high school graduation judging by the navy robe and mortarboard she’s wearing.

“She’s pretty,” Nik says.

“Yeah, she’s a great kid.” Stuie smiles fondly at the photos.

After Stuie shuts Cierra’s bedroom door behind them, he leads Nik to the last room at the end of the hallway, the master bedroom. Stuie pushes the door open and they stand there in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. Nik admires the rustic, earthy tones, the browns and oranges and reds and yellows, the large canopied bed, the picture window that overlooks lush, rolling green hills. 

“This is where the magic happens,” Stuie jokes.

“Oh, god.” Nik makes a show of groaning and feigning embarrassment.

“You love it.” 

Nik doesn’t reply; he finds his attention drawn to the bed, to the gauzy, yellow silk drapery half hiding the bed from plain sight. Nik wishes he could try it out for himself, wishes he could just jump on the bed and sink into the downy comforter.

He also finds himself imagining Stuie in that bed, which leads to him picturing Stuie naked, which leads to—complications.

Nik turns away from Stuie, hoping he won’t notice he’s been compromised. 

“You okay?” Stuie asks.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Nik lies.

Stuie’s hand finds Nik’s back, dangerously close to the waist of his pants, and Nik turns, momentarily forgetting his little problem. 

“Are you sure you’re good?” Stuie asks.

“Stuie, what—”

Stuie pushes Nik back hard against the doorjamb, a hand pressing against the center of his chest, and kisses him. Nik doesn’t react right away, brain stunned into stupidity, as Stuie cups a hand against Nik’s cheek and pushes his tongue into Nik’s mouth.

After a few long seconds while his brain struggles to catch up with what’s happening, Nik slides a hand to the back of Stuie’s neck, fingers twisting gently in Stuie’s soft hair, and he finally returns the kiss.

Stuie wedges his thigh between Nik’s legs and sighs against Nik’s mouth when he realizes Nik is hard.

Nik breaks the kiss and drops his head, pausing to gather his thoughts. Stuie’s lips press against Nik’s stubbled jawline and a hand pulls Nik’s shirt out of the waistband of his slacks. Nik rakes his fingers down Stuie’s back and he shivers, arching his back against it.

“Feels good.” Stuie presses his lips against Nik’s neck, under his jaw, and sucks at the skin there, hard enough to leave a mark.

“What are we doing?” Nik asks, sliding his hands under the back of Stuie’s shirt.

“I—I don’t know.” Stuie sucks another mark into Nik’s skin, and then adds the hint of teeth.

Nik squeezes his eyes shut hard and shudders against Stuie, which creates a delicious friction. “Stuie, the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Stuie pins Nik back against the wall, hands on his shoulders, and gazes into his eyes.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to,” Nik says.

“Of course I want to.” Stuie kisses him again, feathering his lips over Nik’s.

“Okay, then.” Nik arches up against Stuie and rolls his hips, smirking at the husky groan that falls from Stuie’s beautiful mouth.

Stuie guides him over to the canopied bed and pushes Nik back until he tips over and sinks into the gooshy comforter. Stuie crawls over him and kisses him lazily, lingering wet kisses, hands cradling his face.

Nik looks up at Stuie, who’s hovering over him, hands still on his face. “Now what?”

Stuie laughs and sits back on his heels. “What do you wanna do?”

“You,” Nik says, deadpan.

Stuie rolls his eyes and kisses Nik again. “Obviously. I need you to be a little more specific here, Kronner.”

Nik hooks a hand around the back of Stuie’s neck and pulls him against his chest. He runs his tongue over Stuie’s lush bottom lip before stroking his tongue into his mouth.

Nik thinks it’s a testament to his probably very high blood alcohol level that he hasn’t freaked out yet, that he hasn’t started thinking himself into knots over the fact his very married former teammate is kissing him like he normally would. That his very married former teammate has been kissing him for quite a long while now, and is tugging down the zipper on Nik’s black wool dress slacks.

Nik reaches down and catches Stuie’s fingers in his own and he goes still against Nik, like he thinks Nik might push his hand away. He doesn’t, though; rather, Nik lifts his hips and helps Stuie get his pants down and off.

Stuie sits back beside him and unabashedly admires Nik’s body, letting his hands roam down his sides. “Look at you.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Nik says, his cheeks growing warm. He reaches up and quickly unbuttons his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and tossing it aside.

“I’m sure I’m not.” Stuie straddles Nik’s hips.

“I’m sure you are.” Nik squirms a little underneath him, searching for some friction.

Stuie bears down and then Nik gets what he was looking for. He closes his eyes and sighs, savors the feel of Stuie’s hard length pressing against his own. Nik rocks his hips back up and can’t hide a grin when Stuie gasps, thready and full of _want_.

If he were a little more sober—he’s not exactly _drunk_ , but still—he’d examine this more closely. Stuie definitely doesn’t seem like someone who’s never done this with another guy before. But Stuie’s grinding against him, hands grasping and squeezing on his chest, and Nik only has so much brainpower. Said brainpower is currently preoccupied.

“Fuck,” Stuie gasps, “I want—”

“What do you want?” Nik asks, rolling his hips against Stuie’s again.

“I want you to stop talking.” Stuie kisses Nik again and rolls off of him.

Nik immediately misses the body contact, but then Stuie’s hand snakes down his chest to the waist of his briefs and slips in. He wraps his fingers around Nik’s cock and frees it. Nik’s hard enough that it bobs against his stomach and normally, if it wasn’t Stuie, he’d be embarrassed because cocks are weird and Nik’s cock is weird, especially, but he’s not. Stuie looks very interested in it, though, which is all the affirmation Nik needs at the moment.

Nik twists and squirms under Stuie’s touch, contorting until he presses the heel of his hand against the front of Stuie’s pants. His cock is hard, straining against denim. 

“Stuie, let me,” Nik rasps. He’s not sure what he’s asking, but Stuie squeezes on Nik in response and shifts his hips toward Nik’s hand.

Nik yanks the zipper down and eases Stuie’s jeans and boxers down his hips. Nik slides down the length of Stuie’s torso, until he’s kneeling beside him and his cheek rests against Stuie’s thigh. He feels Stuie shiver, and Nik pauses a moment to rub his stubbled cheek against his inner thigh.

“Nik, I thought you wanted...” Stuie trails off.

“This is what I want,” Nik says, looking up, forcing their eyes to meet. Stuie holds his gaze, teeth digging into his soft bottom lip, until looking Nik in the eyes apparently gets to be too much for him and he breaks eye contact.

Nik lowers his head and licks a stripe down the underside of Stuie’s cock, tantalizingly slow, slow enough that Stuie shifts his hips impatiently, silently begging for more. Nik curls a hand around his shaft, stroking him, guiding the head of Stuie’s cock past his lips. 

Stuie lets out a long, soft sigh of satisfaction as Nik draws him in deeper. Nik feels Stuie’s hand brush against his hip, feels his fingers grasp blindly at his thigh. Nik’s own cock is hard, pressing into Stuie’s tautly muscled thigh.

Nik takes in another inch, and he knows he’s going far too slowly because Stuie starts urging him on in this needy, strained tone. When will Nik get another chance at this with him, though? Nik is going to take his time, and he’s going to enjoy every moment. 

Nik gets most of Stuie’s cock in his mouth—he’s never been able to deep throat, but the guys he’s been with before with haven’t seemed to mind—and he starts working Stuie over, teasing little flicks at the crown with the tip of his tongue. He wraps his hands around what he can’t fit in his mouth and strokes, tracing the veins lightly with his fingernails. Stuie shivers, thigh quivering against Nik’s cheek, and Nik would smirk at that if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Stuie starts moving his hips in tiny circular motions, pushing a little bit deeper into Nik’s mouth. Nik breathes through his nose and opens a little wider to accommodate him, the head of Stuie’s cock bumping against the roof of his mouth.

Stuie pushes a little deeper, moving slowly, as if he’s trying to be careful not to hurt Nik, before coming to a halt. Nik sucks his cheeks in, tightening around Stuie’s cock, pumping a hand up and down his shaft. He pulls back a bit, savoring Stuie’s soft little sigh as he withdraws, to hollow his cheeks and bob on the head of his cock.

Stuie’s hips start moving in abbreviated stutters, and he makes a noise that gets caught in his throat. Nik can sense that he’s close, so he picks up the pace, moving his hand faster and faster over Stuie’s cock.

Stuie manages to get out “Nik, I’m gonna come,” before he grasps at the comforter and bucks his hips helplessly.

Nik wrings the orgasm out of him, running his tongue and lips up and down the length of Stuie’s cock, then moving a hand down to massage his balls. Stuie lets go, finally, hips arching, coming with a hoarse cry.

Nik swallows down every drop, licking and caressing Stuie’s cock until he begins to soften, and slips from Nik’s mouth with an obscenely wet noise. Stuie’s cock flops over his trembling thigh, slick with his own come and Nik’s saliva. Nik rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, swiping away a string of Stuie’s jizz. He crawls back over Stuie, sliding his thumb past Stuie’s wet lips, and watches raptly as Stuie sucks Nik’s thumb clean.

Nik kisses him, tastes the saltiness on his lips, and rubs his aching cock between Stuie’s thighs, against his own flagging erection. Stuie shudders against him and slides his hands to Nik’s hips.

“How d’you want me to get you off,” Stuie asks, sounding hoarse, wrecked.

Nik flushes for some reason, inexplicably modest, feels it creep up his neck to his cheeks. “You don’t have—”

“Don’t be a martyr, Nik.” Stuie wraps his arms around Nik and pulls him against his chest. Nik’s erection slides against Stuie’s softening cock, and they both draw in sharp breaths. Stuie squeezes his hands on Nik’s ass, palming the cheeks, digging his fingers into Nik’s flesh hard enough to leave behind bruises.

Nik bucks against him, cocks still sliding together slickly, while Stuie continues to knead his ass cheeks.

“Stuie, will you...” Nik trails off, suddenly self-conscious, unable to just spit the words out, unable to give voice to his desires.

“Will I _what_?” Stuie asks quietly, stilling his hands.

Nik closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Stuie’s shoulder. When he shifts his hips a bit, Stuie’s thigh wedges between Nik’s, just the right amount of pressure against his aching erection. Nik thinks he could get himself off like this, rutting against Stuie like a desperate teenager, but he would much rather have Stuie be an active participant.

“I—I don’t care what you do,” Nik whispers, breath gusting against Stuie’s bare shoulder, “just get me off.”

Stuie laughs, a low, rich sound that Nik can feel vibrating in his chest. “You really sure you wanna give me that much leeway?” Stuie’s tone is teasing, but the way he squeezes down on Nik’s ass and rolls his hips against Nik’s is not.

“God, yes.”

Stuie laughs again and rolls on top, pushing Nik back against the mattress. Nik looks up at him, and Stuie ducks his head to press a kiss against his mouth. Nik feels Stuie smile against his lips.

Stuie lifts a hand, pushes a finger past Nik’s lips, and then a second and a third. Nik slicks them with his spit, sucks the saltiness off his fingertips. Stuie pulls his hand away and kisses Nik again, thrusting his hips against Nik’s in time with his tongue in his mouth. 

Stuie finally breaks the kiss and scoots down the length of Nik’s body, fingers leaving a damp trail down his thigh. He nudges Nik’s legs apart and settles between them. Nik tries to prop himself up on his elbows to get a look at what Stuie’s doing. Stuie circles a fingertip at Nik’s entrance in light, teasing movements, before pushing his finger in. He adds a second one and smirks when Nik can’t help but let suck back a sharp breath. 

It’s just the slightest bit uncomfortable, and they both go still, waiting as Nik’s body adjusts around Stuie’s fingers. Stuie’s breath is hot on Nik’s bare thigh, coming in short, slightly shaky exhales. Nik can hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

“Are you...”

“Yeah,” Nik says.

Stuie pushes his fingers in a little bit deeper, almost unbearably slowly to Nik’s liking, and then stops completely. Nik wants to grab at him, urge him to go deeper, or start fucking him, or _something_ , but all he does is concentrate on fitting his body around Stuie’s fingers. 

Although it’s a bit of an uncomfortable fit—it’s been _way too long_ since the last time Nik’s been properly fucked—the slight burn, even with his spit as lube, gives way to a more pleasant ache.

Stuie starts fucking him in long strokes, still too slowly, pausing every now and then to drag it out. Nik squirms impatiently against him, but Stuie just sets his teeth on Nik’s shoulder and concentrates on—apparently—driving him insane.

“Stuie, please,” Nik begs.

“Please _what_?” Stuie nips at the curve of Nik’s shoulder, fingers still moving way too slowly for Nik’s liking.

“I need _more_.” He tugs gently on Stuie’s hair.

“I’ve got you,” Stuie says. Nik feels him press a smile against the side of his neck.

Stuie slides down the length of Nik’s body and nudges his legs wider apart. His breath curls in wet tendrils against the damp skin of Nik’s hip. Nik wriggles underneath him and clutches at the bedsheets, and bites back a string of Swedish curses when Stuie wraps his mouth around the head of Nik’s cock.

He won’t last much longer, he knows this. He’s always been so easy to please.

Stuie slides his wet lips down Nik’s length, pausing to lick and flick the tip of his tongue down the underside of his cock. Nik lets out a shuddery breath.

Stuie’s mouth and his long, strong fingers trip something deep inside Nik, and he’s coming apart moments later, gasping and twisting against the sweat-soaked bedsheets. Stuie murmurs encouragingly against his feverish skin, wringing every last bit of it out of him. 

Nik feels the faint nip of teeth on the fleshy part of his inner thigh, and it sends little shockwaves through his system. Then Stuie’s thumb is rubbing over the skin there, soothingly, smoothing out the marks left behind.

After, Nik goes to the bathroom to clean himself up and put his clothes back on, while Stuie lazes in bed. Nik tries not to pay too much attention to all the cosmetics, makeup sponges, and little bottles of creams and body wash stacked in a Tupperware container next to the sink. 

He tries not to think about Melissa or the kids, but he fails. Melissa and the kids have never been at the forefront of his mind more than at this very moment.

He wants to ask Stuie if Melissa knows about them, but now he’s just being silly. Of course she doesn’t know. There’s no reason for her to, because they’d never been anything to each other but teammates until tonight. Stuie probably wouldn’t have bothered to tell her anyway, even if they _had_ messed around while Stuie was in Detroit. It’s not as if it means anything.

When Nik emerges from the bathroom, he realizes Stuie’s drifted off. Nik climbs back in bed next to him and settles against his side. Right now, Nik can almost believe that they belong together. That this—the two of them, together—isn’t so impossible. Nik rests his cheek against Stuie’s bare shoulder.

Stuie stirs a little in his sleep but doesn’t wake. He rolls toward Nik, draping an arm over his waist.

Nik sighs and closes his eyes. Stuie’s breath is warm, faintly sour, against his face, but he doesn’t mind this at all. Not one bit.

He must drift off a little too, because one minute he’s curled against Stuie’s side, mind blissfully blank, tracing circles on Stuie’s bare chest with his fingertip, and the next minute he’s being shaken out of the cobwebs.

Nik blinks his eyes open and he looks over; Stuie’s pulled on a T-shirt and boxers, and he’s still shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“What?” Nik asks.

“Should probably get back to the hotel,” Stuie says, sitting back and stifling a yawn, hiding it behind his hand. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh. Right.” Nik sighs deeply. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to leave the bed. If he could just stay here forever, wrapped up in this downy comforter, that would be nice.

“I can drive you back,” Stuie says, reaching out and tugging Nik closer.

Nik goes boneless in Stuie’s arms, legs sprawling open, a lot of dead weight. “I don’t want to go back.”

“You have to,” Stuie says, letting go of him. He smoothes down Nik’s rumpled dress shirt over his chest. “Babs’ll have your head if you don’t come back at all.”

“I know.” Nik sighs again.

Stuie runs a hand over Nik’s stomach and leans down, kissing him gently. The kiss is slow and tender, as Stuie parts Nik’s lips with his tongue. 

This isn’t a goodbye kiss, either. Nik’s had his share of goodbye kisses before. He’d gotten one—a sad, close-mouthed peck—from Kat before she left him and went back home to Stockholm. This kiss is different, though, full of promise. A promise that they’ll do this again, someday soon.

When Stuie pulls back, they lock eyes, his hand still resting on Nik’s stomach.

“Nik, I—”

“Whatever you do, don’t apologize,” Nik says, with an awkward laugh.

“I wasn’t going to,” Stuie says, moving his hand on Nik’s stomach in slow circles. “I was gonna say that I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Nik says.

Stuie stills his hand. “And I was gonna say that I’d wanted this for a long time.”

Nik struggles to sit up, but the comforter is too soft and cushy, and he eventually gives up, sinking down into it. “I did too. I just didn’t think you’d ever... You know.”

“Yeah, I do.” Stuie bends down and kisses him again. “I don’t know when we’ll see each other again, haven’t checked the schedules yet, but...”

“March, in San José,” Nik says, feeling his cheeks start to burn almost immediately. “I already looked it up a while ago.”

Stuie laughs. “I should’ve expected that.” He pats Nik on the chest. “I’ll throw on a pair of sweats and then I’ll take you back to the hotel, okay?”

“Okay,” Nik says, smiling at him.

Stuie grins back, knots a hand in the front of Nik’s shirt and tugs him in for another kiss before slipping out of bed.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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